Family
by ashleyjskywalker
Summary: Being a better man than his father just became a whole lot harder. Oneshot.


This... was not supposed to come out like this. It was supposed to be another mostly fluff piece concerning the time reset, but my brain decided to take it a different route. I'm not entirely sure I'm happy with it, but it is what it is.

Also, my login captcha was zft. This amuses me.

* * *

You love the moments like this- sunny days in the park, sprawled out across the blanket with a book, Peter's head resting on the small of your back while Etta finds one dandelion after another to pick and puff at mightily, scattering the seeds to the wind. Sometimes Walter joins her- your daughter adores her grandfather.

These moments are... normal, for lack of a better of a sentiment. And they're perfect. You would stay like this forever, freeze this moment in time and immortalize it so you don't have to worry about going back to the freakshow that serves as your job, although Fringe events have been decreasing in frequency and Walter seems hopeful that in some point in the future they may cease altogether.

You're not sure what to think about that. You've become so accustomed to observing the bizarre that you don't know how you feel about going back to _normal._

It almost seems... God forbid... boring.

"_I think that I would be happy to stay here for the rest of my life._" Peter's voice echoes your thoughts. And you don't even bother to protest about being the one to give Etta her bath, because this day is too perfect to mar with even a friendly argument, and besides, it _is_ your turn. So you just smile as Peter sits up and calls for your daughter, watching as she runs toward her father with a big grin on her face.

But then, in the instant before she reaches her father's arms, a wave a dizziness sweeps over you, your vision goes dark, and your brain's synapses flash through a lifetime that you haven't lived.

_Etta'sGone. StuckInAmberPeterEttaAstridWalterWhyCan'tWeJustHav eANormalLifeJustOnceIWantMyFamilyBack. Etta. MyLittleGirlSoGrownUpAndBeautiful. HowCanThisBeHappeningIJustFoundHerAgainPleaseDon't DiePleaseDon'tDie. Ican'tLoseYouTooPeterPleaseComeBackToMeILoveYouILo veYouILoveYou. ThisHasToWorkSoWeCanGetOurLittleGirlBackItHasToWor kItHasToWorkItHasTo._

And then abruptly you're just lying on the blanket again, watching your husband and daughter, your racing heart the only indication that anything just happened.

_What_ just happened?

And only when Peter sweeps Etta up into his arms do you exhale roughly, releasing the breath that you hadn't realized you were holding. They're beautiful, these two. You don't want to remember _anything_ about a life without either of them. And yet these memories are now implanted into your mind, distant, yet not hazy; muddled, yet lucid at the same time. You know what it feels like to be trapped in amber, to lose your daughter _twice_, to feel Peter start to slip away from you _again._

And you know that somehow, against all odds, you've managed to save the world again, and your family along with it.

So despite all of the somber memories freshly deposited into your mind, you're smiling again when Peter and Etta finally make it back to the blanket, because you know that they're_ here_, and they're _yours, _though Peter knows that something's amiss with one look at your face, and raises an eyebrow quizzically.

_Later_, you mouth, and he lets it go at that as the two of you turn your attention to the angel he's carrying in his arms.

* * *

The noise coming from the bathroom as Olivia tries to get Etta into the tub makes you smile as you flip through the mail, checking to see if there's anything of substance. Your daughter's a spitfire, just like her mother, and you're fairly sure she inherited some Bishop stubbornness too.

_Junk, junk, oh gee, another credit card offer, just what I wanted, electric bill... Wait, what's this?_

You'd recognize your father's handwriting anywhere, but you flip the envelope over to check the return address all the same, wondering why Walter would have mailed you anything when he sees you every day.

And as rip open the envelope and pull out the simple sketch of a white tulip from within, you are bombarded with a thousand memories that shouldn't exist. Things that you shouldn't understand- how could you lose Etta? Not once, but _twice?_ How could you think that implanting Observer tech into your brain was a good idea? _How_ could you leave Olivia like that?

How can Walter be... _gone?_

And without a shadow of a doubt, you know this is why Olivia had that strange look on her face back at the park.

You can feel a lump growing in your throat as you ascend the stairs toward you wife and daughter, tulip clenched carefully in one hand so as not to crumple it, trying to blink back the tears rising to your eyes as you come to a stop in the bathroom door. Olivia's clothes are drenched with more water than what is left in the tub at this point, and Etta is in the middle of a giggling fit as her mother pours water over her to rinse off the soap. You stand there quietly, watching the two of them, letting their presences soothe away the hurt of knowing Walter won't be in the lab the next time you set foot in it.

Absorbed in the process of getting Etta clean, Olivia doesn't notice you standing there until she's pulled Etta out of the tub and wrapped her in a big fluffy towel. And when she does, her eyes go from your face, to your hand, back to your face, and the smile immediately disappears from hers.

"Peter..." she whispers, her voice heavy with pain for you, but you shake your head, putting a smile on for Etta despite the tears at the corners of your eyes. _Later,_ you mouth, mimicking her earlier gesture, drawing a small smile back out of her.

The somber moment is broken by Etta's fidgeting, and Olivia nuzzles her face into your daughter's neck and blows raspberries up against her skin, making the child squeal with delight and squirm out of her mother's arms, running naked and giggling down the hallway.

You can't help but chuckle, surveying Olivia in such a drenched state and the bathroom floor covered in soapy water. You lean over, kissing her gently on the forehead. "Go get some dry clothes on, hon. I'll get Etta into some pajamas and clean this up."

Wrangling Etta into her pajamas is easy enough with the promise of hot chocolate before bed, and before long all three of you are sitting on the couch with cocoa and popcorn, watching Etta's current favorite movie. She, of course, falls asleep halfway through it, and the two of you are left with a snoring toddler snuggled up between you.

You watch as Olivia gently strokes a hand over your daughter's hair, a sense of awe showing through on her expression. You feel it too... these memories that you've both somehow acquired, the feeling of losing your daughter and then finding her again just to watch her die... it rips you apart inside. And you want nothing more than to think it was all just a bad dream.

"We should get her in bed," she whispers, her hand not leaving Etta's head. "So we can talk."

* * *

Half an hour later- you both felt the need to linger at Etta's bedside, watching your little girl sleep and reassuring yourselves that she was there, that she was alive- you're sitting back on the couch, snugged up against Peter's side with his arm around your shoulder. Suddenly, you're not sure what to say, how to begin, but after a few minutes Peter breaks the silence, his voice a raspy whisper.

"What are we going to do?"

It's bittersweet, this feeling... the knowledge that you get to keep your daughter, don't have to stand idly by as she goes missing, or futilely try to staunch the blood flowing so freely from her chest as the life seeps from her, but that you lose Walter in the process.

You get your daughter, but Peter loses his father.

You tilt your head to look up at Peter, taking in his empty stare, the way his eyes are focused are nothing, the tears lurking at the corners of them. You reach over, take his hand, thread your fingers through his. And as much as you don't want to say what you're thinking, there isn't anything else you can possibly say.

"I don't know."

"I don't-" He exhales roughly, his voice thick with emotion. "I don't know how we're supposed to do this without him." He squeezes your hand gently, drawing comfort from the contact, gently rubbing his thumb across the back of it. "Do you think anyone else remembers?"

You shake your head, even though he's not looking at you. "Astrid would have called by now," you murmur softly. "Nina, too." Your heart clenches at that one, at the memory of your adoptive mother taking her own life to prevent the Observer named Windmark from reading her thoughts of you... to protect you. You sigh, resisting the urge to pick up the phone and call her, to make sure she's okay, even though you know she wouldn't mind. "What are we going to tell Astrid? She loves Walter as much as we do."

The silence sits heavily between the two of you as you both mull the question over before Peter answers. "The truth?" He finally looks down at you then with red-rimmed eyes and tries to crack a smile. "That's one of the few good things about our jobs- we can tell crazy stories about wormholes and resetting timelines and people _believe_ us." He stifles a yawn at the end of the sentence, the emotional toll of the last few hours finally catching up with him.

"We should go to bed," you whisper to him. "Next few days are gonna be hard..." Peter nods absentmindedly, his gaze focused on nothing again, and doesn't move until you stand up and hold your hand out for his so you can lead him up to your bedroom.

* * *

This is harder than you thought it would be.

You stand outside the door to the lab, hesitating, wishing you didn't have to open the door and walk into the lab where Walter should be but isn't, not wanting to face this truth.

If only you had a choice.

Taking a deep breath, you push the door open and step into the lab that you've spent so much time in, your eyes quickly taking in the entire room. It's the room you've seen nearly every day for nearly ten years, and yet now in the aftermath of your new memories and the knowledge that Walter isn't there, it seems... foreign. And it shouldn't, you muse. Gene still sits in her stall in the corner, the tables are still cluttered, Walter's boxes of files are still scattered here and there. Some half-done concoction of his sits in a beaker- a cautious whiff confirms that it's root beer, and that alone is enough to make the tears prick at the back of your eyes, and you drop onto the stool in front of you and put your head in your hands.

_How am I supposed to do this without you, Dad?_

You want your father back. Not at the cost of losing your little girl again, but is it too much to ask that just this once, you get everything? Haven't you given enough?

The squeal of the door opening pulls you out of your thoughts, and you look up to see Olivia step into the lab, Astrid right behind her. Astrid watches for a moment as Olivia comes straight to you, running her fingers through your hair comfortingly as you lean your head against her shoulder.

"All right, you two, what's going on?" She glances around the deserted lab. "Where's Walter?"

And with an uncertain glance at each other, you and Olivia tell her what happened. Everything. And by the end, all three of you have tears streaming down your faces, and Astrid steps forward to hug you both. "You know," she sniffs, trying to smile through the tears, "Walter's never happy unless he has a problem to solve. I'm sure he'll make it back to us."

That makes _you _smile, because you can just picture Walter a hundred and fifty years in the future, mission complete, trying to figure out how to open another wormhole and come back home.

Somehow you think he'll succeed. And as you sit at home later that night and watch your daughter put together a puzzle with your wife, you vow that you will love them with every fiber of your being and protect them with everything that you are so that Walter's sacrifice will not be in vain.

Your family is one person smaller... but it's still your family. And that's worth everything. And being a better man than your father just became a whole lot harder.


End file.
